Which Road Not Taken?

Robert Frost and the forces of habit.

I recently read an account of an Orthodox Jewish girls' high school graduation ceremony. The writer described the collect sigh of resignation that whispered through the assembled relatives and friends as one of the graduate-speakers began by reciting Robert Frost's classic poem, "The Road Not Taken." The captive audience seemed to anticipate a predictable excursion along the overly well-trodden road of invoking Frost's verse as a paean to individuality and non-conformism.

Instead, the writer was pleasantly surprised. Departing from the expected formula, the young speaker argued with Frost's message by defending those with the courage to walk the well-traveled road of tradition in the face of social pressure to reject establishment and convention. It is indeed refreshing to hear the voice of youth, albeit second hand, recognizing the fallacy of a new conformism that preaches non-conformity -- or, even worse, anti-conformity.

However, in my days as a student of literature at the University of California, I learned that Robert Frost is among the most famously misunderstood of poets. The attentive reader discovers that it was never Frost's style to merely paint landscapes out of words or to render such trite messages as "favor the road less-traveled." Frost had a sharp, unforgiving eye that focused not on the beauties of nature but upon man's frequent failure to recognize his own place in the natural world.

And so "The Road Not Taken," like so many of Frost's poems, ripples with subtle but troubling inconsistencies. Frost asserts that he chose the road

having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear.

However, he immediately contradicts himself by declaring,

Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.

So which is it? Were the roads the same or were they different? And if they were the same, then what did it matter which one he chose?

Frost offers his first clue in his first line:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood…

Why did the wood have to be yellow? Since we generally visualize forests as green, would we not expect the wood to be described as emerald, or verdant, or leafy? Why did Frost choose to depict his forest as yellow, the color of the first turning of the leaves with the onset of autumn?

Since Frost is clearly describing not a ramble through the woods but a journey through life, the autumnal image of the yellow wood suggests the last years of middle age, the time when one is set in his ways and resistant to -- but not yet incapable of -- change. It may be a time when one begins to reflect upon opportunities missed, upon chances not taken, upon the caution that urges the traveler to consider the roads ahead and look

down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

As his choices and options diminish with the anticipated approach of his twilight years, it is here that the traveler through life hopes to catch sight of his final destination before committing himself irrevocably to one path or the other.

Taken thus, the yellow wood represents not the habit of age but the habit of human nature. We favor the familiar, the easy, the undemanding. We resist the unknown, the untried, the untested. When facing decision, human nature prods us along the path of least resistance, the path that poses the least danger, the least challenge and, consequently, the least opportunity for personal growth.

Frost does not ponder the choice between roads more or less traveled by others, but contemplates which kind of road he has traveled more or less himself.

The two roads diverging in Frost's yellow wood lay equally trodden in absolute terms. But for the narrator, the inclination born of habit predisposed him in one direction, where a different traveler inclined by his own forces of habit might find himself predisposed to take the other path.

And so Frost does not ponder the choice between roads more or less traveled by others, but contemplates which kind of road he has traveled more or less himself. To challenge ourselves with the unfamiliar, to force ourselves to overcome new obstacles, to seek out opportunities to discover new resources of talent, ability, and creativity -- these are the pathways that, "somewhere ages and ages hence" will be what "has made all the difference."

Who is mighty? asks the Talmud. The one who conquers his inclination. Traditionally, we apply this statement to the battle against the desire for physical gratification and amoral self-interest. But perhaps it applies equally well to the inclination of habit and routine. When we fear the unfamiliar, when we refuse to look down new roads for no reason other than because we have never traveled them before, we rob ourselves of the chance to discover the limitless potential with which the Creator has endowed every one of us.

The opinions expressed in the comment section are the personal views of the commenters. Comments are moderated, so please keep it civil.

Visitor Comments: 10

(10)
Ronnie Y. Fredman,
July 1, 2008 7:57 PM

Fifty Miles To Stuckeys

Dear Rabbi G,
I just finished my fourth draft of a new poem, "Fifty Miles to Stuckeys." I spent the first eighteen years of my life in St. Louis. I did a lot of traveling as a passenger on I-55. There is a famous oasis chain, Stuckeys, with its great shakes and famous pecan logs. I like the mile post signs, each approaching sign had the Pavlovian effect of intensifying my thirst, my desire for the famous chocolate milk shake. Every road has a fork, an exit, a pathway off the first course: how boring would it be to have no fork in any road? Yet, we admire and require our hearts to be consistent in their beating. Go figure!

(9)
Joanne Asher,
July 1, 2008 2:25 PM

enlightened

I have read this poem dozens of times and thought I had understood it until now. Thank you So much for such a clear and meaningful "explication de texte."

(8)
Harold Males,
June 30, 2008 9:29 AM

To Marsha: It's not heavy--it's my other (reading)

I hate to break it to you--but most of Tanach is 'heavy.' And when when we strip away the prose of our lives, what remains is the poetry. Sometimes we need help to cut away concealing undergrowth. Thank you Rabbi Goldson! (PS I am a retired teacher and editor, and this is one of my favorite poems--for the reasons cited in the analysis.)

(7)
Robert Lowy,
June 30, 2008 1:24 AM

Personal persective

As an English Literature teacher I've been teaching this poem for 30 years. This is the first personal perspective I've read and makes it far more meaningful. I can enjoy it all over again. Thank You

(6)
ruth housman,
June 29, 2008 7:10 PM

routes and roots

I agree with the conclusion of this peace, that taking risks in life, by following unfamiliar pathways can lead to highways and byways that are personally beautiful and fulfilling in many ways. I think there are always personal "regrets" for roads not taken, and yet, in a lifetime there are just so many choices. I like to feel, that in middle age, when one examines the personal tapestry that is one's life, there are always gold and silver threads that shine, no matter what, because life is experiential and there is no going back to relive those choices by changing them but there is going back to relive the awesome things that did happen to us all on this most profound journey we're all taking.

(5)
Glenn Harbison,
June 29, 2008 6:02 PM

a fresh take on Frost

Having looked at Frost when young with totally different eyes than now, I welcome this perspective at age 64. It touches on either/or...the whole decision making process

(4)
Feigele,
June 29, 2008 4:07 PM

The Wandering Jew

As Jews, have we not travel enough many different roads for thousand years? Was it our free will, or was it a blueprint of all the roads meant for us to take? We have no control over which road we take at any time of our lives.

(3)
Anonymous,
June 29, 2008 1:14 PM

Contemplating how to take an unfamiliar road

Thank you Rabbi Goldson for this message. It came at the right time in my life, when I am venturing into the unfamiliar of becoming an entrepreneur after so many years of building businesses for Fortune 500s. Even though I have been preparing for a while, fear of the unfamiliar has consumed me over the past few days... even during Shabbat found it difficult to connect to the Creator. Reading this article helped me to refocus and look forward to the new roads ahead as a chance to discover the limitless potential with which the Creator has endowed me. Again, thank you so much for this article.

(2)
Anonymous,
June 29, 2008 10:50 AM

Great refreshing approach! Contemplating a poem to find deeper meaning of Talmudic teaching is like building a snowflake from earthy particles and a rain drop.Thank you from Texas!

(1)
Marsha,
June 29, 2008 9:48 AM

I'm sure this is very brilliant and scholarly, but who reads stuff this heavy on a Sunday morning?

I always loved the story of Jonah and the whale. Why do we read it during the afternoon service of Yom Kippur?

The Aish Rabbi Replies:

Let's recap the story: God tells Jonah to go to Ninveh and to prophesy that in 40 days, God will destroy the city. Instead, Jonah goes to Jaffa, boards a ship, and sails for Tarshish. A great storm arises. Frightened, Jonah goes to sleep in the ship's hold. The sailors somehow recognize that Jonah is responsible for the storm. They throw him overboard, and the sea becomes calm.

A great fish swallows Jonah. Then three days later, God commands the fish to spit Jonah back out upon dry land. God tells Jonah, "Let's try it again. Go to Ninveh and tell them in 40 days I will destroy the city."

The story is a metaphor for our struggle for clarity. Jonah is the soul. The soul is assigned to sanctify the world, and draw it close to God. But we are seduced by the world's beauty. (Jaffa in Hebrew means "beauty.") The ship is the body, the sea is the world, and the storm is life's pains and troubles. God hopes confrontation with mortality will inspire us to examine our lives. But Jonah's is the more common response - we go to sleep (have a beer, turn on the television). The sailors throw Jonah overboard - this is death. The fish that swallows Jonah is the grave. Jonah is spat back upon the land - reincarnation. And the Almighty tells us to try again. "Go sanctify the world and bring it close to God."

Each of us is born with an opportunity and a challenge. We each have unique gifts to offer the world and unique challenges to perfect ourselves. If we leave the task unfinished the first time, we get a second chance. Jonah teaches us that repentance can reverse a harsh decree. If the residents of Ninveh had the ability to correct their mistakes and do teshuva, how much more so do we have the ability to correct our former mistakes and do teshuva.

(source: "The Bible for the Clueless But Curious," by Rabbi Nachum Braverman)

In 1948, Egypt launched a large-scale offensive against the Negev region of Israel. This was part of the War of Independence, an attack by five Arab armies designed to "drive the Jews into the sea." Though the Jews were under-armed, untrained, and few in number, through ingenuity and perseverance they staved off the attacks and secured the borders. Yet the price was high -- Israel lost 6,373 of its people, a full one percent of the Jewish population of Israel at the time.

And what does teshuvah consist of? [Repentance to the degree] that the One Who knows all that is hidden will testify that he will never again repeat this sin(Maimonides, Laws of Teshuvah 2:2).

"How can this be?" ask the commentaries. "Inasmuch as man always has free choice to do good or evil, to sin or not to sin, how can God testify that a person will never repeat a particular sin? Is this not a repudiation of one's free will?"

The answer to this came to me at a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous, at which the speaker, a man who had been sober for twenty-one years, said, "The man I was drank. The man I was will drink again. But now I am a different man."

A sin does not occur in a vacuum. A person who is devout does not abruptly decide to eat treifah. A sin occurs when a person is in such a state that a particular act is not anathema to him.

Consequently, repentance is not complete if one merely regrets having done wrong. One must ask, "How did this sin ever come about? In what kind of a state was I that permitted me to commit this sin?"

True repentance thus consists of changing one's character to the point where, as the person is now, one can no longer even consider doing the forbidden act. Of course, the person's character may deteriorate - and if it does, he may sin again.

God does not testify that the person will never repeat the sin, but rather that his degree of repentance and correction of his character defects are such that, as long as he maintains his new status, he will not commit that sin.

Today I shall...

try to understand how I came to do those things that I regret having done, and bring myself to a state where such acts will be alien to me.

With stories and insights,
Rabbi Twerski's new book Twerski on Machzor makes Rosh Hashanah prayers more meaningful. Click here to order...